


A Little Tattered and Torn

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 08:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19808560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Ignis may never actually see the Citadel again, but he wondered if it was as scarred as he was now.





	A Little Tattered and Torn

“How did he look?”

The Citadel was still under repair. The rubble of the once great city cleared slowly by recommissioned, recaptured Imperial equipment. People from Lestallum had returned in droves to follow in the wake of the Lucian King; the surviving nobility of Eos scraped the people together as they braved the once-hostile roads to attend to the ruins of the once Crown City. Ignis had heard them moving— the great grinding and crashing of the machines had been deafening in the weeks leading up to this moment. 

He knew Prompto by the man’s gait on the familiar marble floors. 

The Citadel had still stood mostly intact. The ancient walls withstanding the brunt of destruction and ruin under Ardyn’s control of the Long Night. The towers still stretched upward, marked by the violence that had come before, but still standing the true tests of Insomnia’s fall. Ignis had listened to the work— the rumble of the repairs being made to the throne room, the steps and gallery cleared before the windows were rebuilt and replaced. He had felt the calming breeze through what had once been a gaping wound in the seat of Lucian power narrow. He had stood at the base of the steps he knew like his own hand, and wondered what it must look like, cleaned and repaired, the new stone collected through the city. He wondered if the new stone matched the old— or if the Citadel would bear a scar like the rest of them. If the golden, gilded sculpture that once dwarfed the throne still stood as it did in his memory. 

Ignis knew that it would always look the way it was meant to in his mind. They way it did when he was first introduced to Noctis, so long ago. 

“Good,” Prompto answered, and Ignis straighted as the steps approached with a confident familiarity; “He pulls off the suit well, you know. Very regal and… uhm, majestic?”

“We both know you’re a terrible liar, Prompto.”

Ignis lifted his chin so Prompto could correct his collar. So the man could run his hands over the lines of the Kingsglaive uniform, the decorations and tattered embroidery, smoothing out the rough edges Ignis couldn’t see for himself to fix. 

He could picture the smile when Prompto spoke again; “Remember that time he had to dress up for Prince’s Day? When he was eighteen?”

He let himself smile at the memory. Noctis had fidgeted throughout that ordeal— the speeches the celebration, the long night spent standing among the nobility of Lucis when he just wanted to disappear into the casual bright nightlife of the city they had all loved. 

“That bad?”

“Worse.” Prompto left his hands on Ignis’ shoulders as he finished cleaning the lines he wanted to. As he smoothed the last loose threads left from the last fight. From the last hours of night before the dawn broke. “He threatened me with a treason charge if anyone saw the pictures I took.”

Now, ragged, scarred, healing— like the Citadel itself— they were ready for their King’s coronation. “Who have you sent them to so far?”

“Cor, and Iris. Ready?”

“I believe so.” Ignis reached for the familiar visor where he had left it. Always within reach to cover the worst of the damage that had refused to heal. The worst of the scar cut across his features by the Lucii. 

Prompto stilled his hand, and brought the knuckles to his lips. “Not today, yeah?”

“The scars—”

“Are part of you too.”

“Did Noct ask for…”

“No,” Prompto placed another kiss to Ignis’ hand. Then to the scar that cut its way across his nose, to the tear across his eye that had guaranteed his blindness. To the silver little scar across his lip that had never fully mended. “But I’m asking. New future, right? Don’t hide the battle scars.”

Ignis let himself hesitate at the thought. He had been told of the damage, remembered the fear and shock in Noctis’ voice when he saw it for himself back in Altissia so many years ago. Back when the sun still rose but the days grew shorter. Now, Ignis thought that he liked the feeling of the sun’s warmth on his face and the sense of light that rose over the reborn kingdom. 

But there was no arguing with Prompto. 

“Very well. But if anyone asks, I’ll be sure to direct them to you for an explanation.”

Another kiss and Prompto took his hand to lead him through the Citadel halls, to where Noctis was waiting for them. “And I’ll point them to Gladio. Problem solved right there. Now, let’s go see Noct get that crown he’s been dodging forever.”


End file.
